The Diary

15 August 2004: "No, We're NOT Going To Do A Wolves!"

(Above title with NO apologies whatsoever to Dave Jones!)

Had some grey-bearded footballing deity, prior to publication of the 2004-05 Premier fixture lists, manifested himself unto me in a fiery chariot, then offered to give me the pick of whatever away venue I wanted to kick off at for our second bite at the Premiership cherry, then, all thing being considered, I would certainly have given Blackburn Rovers some pretty serious thought. It?s the away trip with everything ? a football-friendly police force, some very amenable ?away supporters welcome? drinking-dens, amiable home supporters in quantity, a club able to give us oodles of tickets in the away end should we need ?em ? and, last but not least, a venue where we stood a realistic chance of us coming home with something to show for our efforts on the opening day. Oh ? and the weather was spot-on as well, if a tad hot and humid, so the place had just about something for everyone, really. A one-one draw was what I forecast on the Boing Internet Predictions Competition, and a rather useful 1-1 was precisely what we got! Not only that, but did I see the glimmerings of what undoubtedly has the potential to be quite a neat Premiership side out there, given a game or three, Albion? Honest. No kid. And, no, the heat wasn?t getting to me, but more Ewood Park doings later.

I don?t know what you all lot out there do as a rule when travelling to away games ? play cards, watch videos of dodgy provenance (no, Not Romeo Zondervan?s either!), count sheep, engage in heated discussions on existentialist philosophy while zooming along in the fast lane ? but we Dick Eds found the perfect diversion this morning as the M5 merged imperceptibly into the M6, somewhere adjacent to those awful Pleck gasometers; we had the bright idea of totting up the total number of Baggies-supporting years present and correct in the Dickmobile - and the result is an incredible 154 years between the four of us, The Noise, The Fart, ?Im Indoors and myself! Top of the shop, of course, is The Fart with knocking on for 64 years in durance vile. And that?s just the bits he?s admitting to. Put another way, that?s much longer than Albion have been in existence, really, and here we all are, up and ready for yet another dose again. Frightening, isn?t it? Or are all four of us simply terminal saddoes? No, better not answer that one.

On to Sunny Stoke and our next station stop, to pick up The Noisy One, who was waiting patiently for us, as expected. And, once in the Dickmobile, we finally got the low-down on the Great Wasp War. It turned out that the eviction of these horrid yellow and black creatures was brought about with the assistance of daughter Carly. Martin was doing the spraying (ooer, missus), while dear daughter, sweet and mild thing that she is, was poking a big long sticky thing into the nest ?to get the things a bit wild? as The Noise so charmingly put it. A bit like going into the home end at Molineux, then ripping off your coat to reveal a pristine blue and white striped shirt cunningly hidden beneath, really! And here was me thinking what a delightful young lady Carly was becoming; I never intimated for one minute she had such dreadful blood-lust in her! Oh, and as we passed the outskirts of Manchester, over which now hung an ominous black pall of cloud, we finally found out what became of that poor nest ? it ended up, a very stripey, angry and buzzy remnant of what had been a fair sized wasps? Shangri-La, in someone else?s rubbish bin. Blimey, I bet someone had a hell of a shock when they opened their dustbin lid the next morning.

Back into sunshine once more, as Blackburn hove near, and straight to our parking spot of last time round, a side-street about a mile distant from the ground itself. Just a short walk from the nearest pub, The Fenhurst, actually ? very handy, as it was ?away fan Mecca? for the duration. Mind you, we didn?t need telling, the blue and white striped (with bits of red chucked in for good measure) throng slurping like there was tomorrow outside the place was a pretty good giveaway, really. Despite my earlier misgivings, no sooner had we set foot on the premises, it was, for me, most definitely ?back in the old routine?. Lots of old friends to catch up with ? three months is a pretty long time, you know ? tales to tell, gossip to impart, that sort of thing. Also there, were The Drinking Family, but with a sad little tale to tell; they will be on the road and slurping this season, also ? but in reduced numbers. How come? Apparently, the head of the household has had to take early retirement, owing to an accident at work, and because of the nature of the illness, this will put a bit of a damper on away excursions for the immediate future.

Outside, allegedly trying to correct a dehydrated intracellular system with liberal quantities of alcohol in dilute form, were the Satanic Nurses. No military gear this time, sadly, just bags of enthusiasm and rude songs, as per usual. Plus at least one Dick subscription from them! I do have a sad little tale to tell about one of them at the Reading game last season, but I?ll leave it until tomorrow, now, I think. Oh, and trust that lot to spot none other than Sky TV?s Chris Kamara walking steadily towards the nearby ground, but over the road, out of harm?s way (perhaps he?d heard all about The Nurses as well?). It took our irreverent followers of Florence Nightingale?s healing arts about 0.5 of a second to burst into a spontaneous chorus of, ?There?s Only One Lionel Ritchie!?, with about another 100 Baggies joining in for good measure! Oh well, at least it gave the bouncers on the door a good giggle, if nothing else. And at least the recipient was gracious enough to grin, but I?m sure our very own Gary Robson called Chris much, much worse that night in Stoke 14 years ago when the latter pretty much scythed through the former?s lower legs, and left him hors de combat for ages afterwards! And, while all this was going on, the team tootled by, in yet another new coach, plus the now-obligatory police escort, to much cheering from our thirsty lot outside the pub.

And not only thirsty for strong waters, either; it seemed the clientele were thirsting after essential pre-match reading, also, because we managed to flog most of the pile of Dicks we?d brought with us right there and then. Left with but a residue to shift, we then proceeded to shift ourselves to the ground, to shift them, if you get my drift. And my God, wasn?t it getting humid as well? Deciding a bottle of chilled Coke was favourite, I took myself to a newsagents across the road from Ewood Park to purchase same ? but first to negotiate was a bit of a sod of a main road, traffic coming in all directions. How did I do it? Easy ? wave my walking-stick about a bit! On my outward journey, a massive brute of a 4 x 4 stopped for me, and I was able to dodge the rest, and on my way back, a nice policeman not only held up all the traffic for me, but called me ?Madam? as well. Such uncharacteristic politeness from the boys in blue immediately had me looking around wondering if it was a trap! A copper actually calling me, one of those nasty football hooligan thingies, ?Madam?? Something wrong somewhere, surely?

Back to our selling spot once more, and already, ?Im Indoors was doing brisk trade. Not for long, though. We?d been at our normal perch (same place as the last time we were there, two seasons ago) for about 30 minutes when one of the stewards came along, and told us we had to move. Why? According to our informant, we were ? and this is no word of a lie ? ?Causing an insurance problem?. And no, I can?t work that one out either, especially as nothing was ever said to the other half of the Dick selling team, who were still enthusiastically flogging their wares as per usual when we returned to their pitch, not far from the away turnstiles! Some150 copies given good homes, it was now time to disport our carcasses elsewhere, like in the away end. And, for the first time ever, automatic turnstiles! No human taking ticket stubs and pressing a little lever to admit punters whatsoever; no, sirree, just like us, they too had been dragged kicking and screaming into the 21st. century. Push the card in the little slot and the green light went on. Just like at home, and yes, when pressed for the answer, the embarrassed stewards admitted theirs went wrong as well!

This time round, we?d ended up with tickets in the upper tier, so a-humpin? we did go, up what seemed to be nearly as many flights of stairs as possessed by fellow Premier-dwellers Newcastle. Luckily, the old ?pre-season training? for my back paid off for me; come the end of the climb, I didn?t feel half as knackered as I thought I would be, so all that sweat and toil courtesy my physio, Lucy, certainly hit pay-dirt for me today. At the top, then, a natter to several other Baggies we hadn?t clapped eyes on since before the summer break, then to our seats ? and blimey, were they high up. As I nervously commented to one fellow-supporter, ?Blimey, I sure hope we don?t get a thunderstorm while we?re up here!? Such was our altitude, I?m convinced one good blast of lightning, and it would have been ?frying tonight? in West Bromwich, in more than one sense of the word.

But, thunderstorms apart, the football was what we?d come to see, and as we Dick Eds settled into our sockets it became abundantly clear within seconds that our stripey chums were more than up for it; chants such as ?We are Albion, say, we are Albion!? issued forth with a volume and fervour I hadn?t heard in yonks. As did some not-so-subtle digs at the claret-and-blue persuasion just down the road. And, as kick-off time drew nearer, so did the ambience, the tempo, at the steam-heated Ewood Park venue. An almighty roar ? ?Hello, hello, West Brom are back, West Brom are back!? - as our heroes took to the Premiership field of play once more, and there was a game on, suddenly. A strange sort of opening line-up, though. Although I?d predicted correctly that Kanu would make the opening eleven, for reasons best known to himself, our manager had gone for Clem in central midfield (a little throstle whispered in my ear to that effect on Friday night, but disbelieving sod that I am, I pooh-poohed the very thought!), and made him captain as well. Was that wise, I wondered. As things turned out, not only was it wise, it ensured us a point, but that?s the prediction business for you! We also included three more of our new-bugs, Scimeca, Purse, and Greening, in the side, with The Great Zoltan on the bench, as were O?Connnor, Dobes, big Dave and our Polish keeper with the funny name I can never get right ? Kuszczak. The sooner he can get naturalised and call himself ?Smith? the better for everyone! As for Rovers, as I?d thought, they had former seal Dwight Yorke lolloping away for them, and former Man City pest Dickov on the bench.

And, as we settled down into the 2004-05 Premiership groove, it began to emerge that we were getting together quite a skilful little side out there. I just couldn?t believe it ? we were, shock horror, actually trying to play FOOTBALL and not the hoof-it-and-hope sort of stuff that had characterised our Nationwide excursions these last 12 months or so. Wow, we Dick Eds murmured in frank astonishment and admiration. Naturally, Kanu?s skills stood out a mile, as did Tommy G?s assurance at the back - in fact, I?d give him my personal ?man of the match? today. The first 15 minutes were Albion?s, as the home side tried to counter the threat ? had we been more able to get bodies into the box when it mattered, I reckon we?d have drawn blood long before Clem?s almighty piledriver. At first, Rovers? passes went astray, Albion seemed physically stronger, and before we knew it, we?d managed to get the home side to concede a corner or two. Cue for eardrum-shattering roars of approval from the travelling contingent behind the goal! For their part, it was about midway through the half before Blackburn actually managed to look dangerous, but thanks to the good offices of a pretty nippy Tommy G, the threat was quickly neutralised. From then on in, although we were still strutting the (astonishingly!) skilful stuff, Blackburn suddenly began to string some passes together in a worrying manner, and it seemed at one stage they just might take the midfield and thence the game by the scruff of its neck.

Enter, though, Neil Clement, free-kick specialist to the Black Country. What happened? Well, having had the benefit of seeing ?Match Of The Day? tonight, this, I think, is what happened. With just past half an hour gone, one of theirs upended The Horse about 30 yards out, so up stepped Clem to do his bounden duty. ?Time to make a name for yourself, Clem!? muttered ?Im Indoors, as our hero wound himself up for the almighty ?thump? to come ? and, seconds later, that?s precisely what Clem did do, although the ball did take a deflection on its way in. But, what the hell, one-nil is one-nil, and sweet music also to those Baggies who?d despaired of ever seeing us take any sort of a lead on the opening day. According to the official website tonight, the last time we got a result on Day One was seven seasons ago! As far as the rest went, the result was what you might expect; the entire away end went absolutely potty! Loads of massed ?boinging? as you might expect ? ah, you?ve missed that, Premiership, haven?t you? ? plus a particularly goosebump-making rendition of ?The Lord?s My Shepherd?, not to mention a reprieve for that old favourite, ?West Brom Are Back!? Also, our more recent ?creation?, ?Premier League, we?re havin?a Larf?! As for those (even more) hot and bothered home supporters, there was naught but silence by way of reply. And, much to our delight, a couple of ?sort-of? scares notwithstanding, that?s how it was at half-time.

I don?t usually go a bundle on some of the FA?s more arcane pronouncements, but the one about having a 20 minute break during the interval is a real godsend to us females! It gives us not only time to queue at the bog then do the biz, it provides sufficient leeway to have a good natter to friends and acquaintances downstairs as well ? a ?bog? ?hello to both Pat Luke and Jean Wilkes, both good buddies of mine - so it was with plenty of time to spare I regained my seat for the second helping. Graham Souness had clearly decided to ring the changes, because as we awaited the restart, Dickov and Tugay came on at the expense of both Gresko and De Pedro. This helped the home side tip the balance, and we soon noticed the difference. Blackburn were suddenly pushing up bodies in numbers, and our rearguard suddenly had a hard time of it back there. Having said that, we could have doubled our lead when, not too long after the restart, an almighty howler of a Blackburn backpass nearly let in the predatory Kanu. Oh, by the way, our spanking-new chant ? ?KAAAAAAAAA-NUU!? ? to me sounds more like an almighty massed-sneeze in the away end than a paean of praise to the lad!

Although Rovers looked increasingly dangerous (and at one point we got into an almighty tangle at the back which would have been unhesitatingly punished had we been at some grounds I could mention in this league) we still hung tough in there, but around the 70th minute we cracked, sadly. Jonathan Stead supplied the cross from the left, and that found Craig short, who headed home with thanks. We then entered something of a rocky patch, and it wouldn?t have surprised had Blackburn gone on to do better that last 20 minutes or so. Having said that, Paul Robinson could have been an unlikely hero for us also: thanks to the ever-elusive and magical Kanu, he was provided with a peach of a chance from about 10 yards out, but he not being of the attacking persuasion he merely drove the bladder at Friedel?s feet instead of sticking the thing right where it belonged! The last 15 minutes saw us bring on Big Dave and Dobes (surprising; I?d thought Kanu would have been the one to go off) at the expense of Clem and The Horse ? our man-mountain didn?t half help plug those defensive gaps ? and also The Great Zoltan, for a knackered-looking AJ, with about 5 minutes to go, but a draw was what we got in the end. No complaints; as I said, it was great just seeing an Albion side attempting to play football ? attractive football, even ? for the first time, I reckon, since the days of Ardiles, so well done the lads, I say! Another vagrant thought. Which idiot and badly-researched hack will be the first to report that we booed Kanu at the end of the game, I wonder?

One fly in the ointment late in the game was the distinctly eccentric whistling of referee Chris Foy, which gave momentum to a brief reprise for that old favourite ?The Premier League is effin? bent!?.? ? but, as The Noise remarked later, whatever division you?re in, Chris Foy is always Chris Foy. Bloody annoying, in short! It would have been nice to have grabbed the pot, thereby putting us in the top three of the Prem overnight (that would have been one to frame, peeps!), but let?s not be greedy. And, as we exited the ground, it seemed that a good many of my peers seemed to be thinking that way also. On that showing, bring on the Villa? You bet.

More tomorrow, but now for my usual bit, ?And Finally?.?

One. The Noise today gave us the full benefit of his profound thoughts regarding the increasing encroachment of the bean-counters and money-men into the game, thus: ?The way the game?s going, we shouldn?t have League tables every week, just bank statements!?

Two. The Fart, observing some cows happily grazing in a field as we made our way back down the M6 towards the Midlands, ?Oh look ? they?re in a 4-5-1 formation!?

 - Glynis Wright

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